


O Dear Beloved,

by GwiYeoWeo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dad!Cor, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Growing Up, Kid Fic, and do what they can to keep him safe and happy, and is also an Uncle fic now lmao, no prophecy no war no problem, noct eventually takes advantage of this in mostly innocent ways, okay so this took a turn, pretty much the gods love the heck out of noctis, the Scourge is a thing but like a weird bubonic plague
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: The gods share an unspoken rule: remain impartial and act only to preserve the Star.They break that rule when Noctis is born, and he soon makes friends in very high places.





	1. Carbuncle

**Author's Note:**

> The gods are smitten by those adorable little cheeks. Carbuncle gets first dibs though.

In hindsight, Regis should have seen the signs when they had made them so obviously blatant.

Noctis was barely seven months old, when the gods began showing their favor. After finishing up his duties for the day, from being bounced around his myriad of meetings and scouring over his mountains of paperwork, Regis _finally_ found the opportunity to see his little babe. He leaned over the crib, watched his small chest rise with each tiny breath, and admired how rosy pink his fatty cheeks were. It took all his willpower to not pinch them; it helped that his son looked so utterly peaceful as he slept, and he would hate to wake his sweet son up.

It’s when he used his sleeve to wipe the little drool from his son’s lips that he noticed a tiny figurine at his pillow. Regis frowned and picked the toy up, noticing the uncanny resemblance it shared with a certain Messenger, blue-white fur and a red gem on its forehead. It looked appropriately cute for a child’s toy, but Noctis was but a baby. Something of this size could very well turn into a choking hazard, and Regis did not want to think of losing his son to a wooden figurine.

He pocketed the toy and kissed his son goodnight. He’d have to talk to his nurse and ask who left it in Noctis’ crib.

  


Regis thought nothing of it on the first night; on the second, he figured someone made a mistake. But by the third? He didn’t know whether to be upset or creeped out. When he had first found the toy, he had handed it off to the nurse and had asked if she had left it there. She had denied it, saying she never saw it until now. Regis had chosen to believe her, mostly because she had been in their service for two decades and he had never found a reason to question her loyalty. When he had found the same toy at his son’s pillow the following night, he had brought it back to his own chambers and placed it in his bedside drawer; it had disappeared the next morning.

Now, for the third night in a row, Regis once again found himself staring at the toy, struggling between genuine concern and ridiculous paranoia. One, the only way for the figurine to be at his son's side again was if someone snuck into his rooms last night and rummaged through his belongings. And that idea alone sprung forth a dozen or so red flags. There was the issue of security, secrecy, loyalty, and a slew of other alerts that came with someone possibly tip-toeing their way through Regis’ own chambers — all while he was asleep. Which made the second point. While less pressing than a breach in national security, Regis hated the idea of actually sleeping through whatever noise the offender must have made. He was still young, damn it, there's no way he's turning into some old geezer who sleeps through anything and everything.

Yet, some childish delusion reared its head. Regis remembered his younger days spent with Clarus and Cid, staying up well into the night and bingeing on horror movies. (Cor had chickened out on the second film and vowed to never join their horror marathons ever again.) They found that Clarus and Cor had been weak to the jumpscares, but Regis had an especially hard time with movies revolving around haunted dolls.

And seeing this little toy, with its beady little eyes staring up at him, made him irrationally nervous; the cute ones, he had learned, were the creepiest and deadliest. But Regis was a father and a king, and no paranormal activity or hired assassin would keep him from protecting his son. For the third time, he reached to pick up the —

A pair of small teeth snapped at his fingers, followed by a low but soft growl. Regis instinctively recoiled, but his brain took a few extra beats to process what his eyes were telling him. What should have been a wooden figurine only several inches tall was now a very fluffy, very _alive_ small fox curled up by his son's head. Its soft tail draped itself over Noctis’ chest in what seemed to be a protective gesture, if its bared fangs directed at Regis meant anything.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and without taking his eyes off the fox, he slowly pulled out his phone and drew his finger across the screen. He looked away only to read the text message.

> **(11:37 pm) Carbuncle** : Stop moving me around! >:(
> 
> **(11:37 pm) Carbuncle:** Noctis is having really nice dreams right now.

Oh.

_Oh._

This may not have been his first time meeting an Astral or their Messengers, but he never thought he'd see one sleeping in his son's crib. He quickly composed himself.

“I am sorry, do forgive me,” Regis said, keeping his voice low and hushed, “I was not aware of who you were.

> **(11:38 pm) Carbuncle:** Well now you know. So don't go shoving me in your dusty drawers anymore! D:

“Of course.” Regis tilted his head and offered a wry smile. As surprising as this all was, he was comforted knowing it wasn't some cursed statue haunting his son. Though he hoped Noctis wasn't looking to use Carbuncle as a teething toy anytime soon. The little Messenger probably wouldn't appreciate being slobbered over. But its presence now begged another question: what message did it bring? Noctis was far too young to understand whatever it was the gods had planned for him, yet here Carbuncle was, its little nose nuzzling against the boy's hair.

“What do the gods say? Surely you are not here only to offer up sweet dreams to my baby son.”

> **(11:38 pm) Carbuncle:** Don't worry about that, I'm here to tell him how much we love him!

Followed by a bright pink heart emoji.

That… was oddly suspicious. Regis tried to keep faith in those who were trustworthy, but he found himself a cynic at the Messenger's words. The gods kept their promises, yet they also liked to talk in obscure riddles. And as innocent as it was, the message itself was unsettling. The gods do not show favoritism, nor do they send their servants to deliver declarations of affection to baby princes. History wrote of fallen kingdoms, of pious heroes slain, and of disasters striking the entirety of Eos; yet only when humanity was on the brink of extinction did the gods ever act. They had combated the Scourge, granted the Oracle healing magic, but they still allowed it to fester upon their Star.

Regis thought he had every right to be skeptical, and Carbuncle seemed to notice.

> **(11:40 pm) Carbuncle:** Believe me or not, daddy King. But lemme get some shut eye here, will you? I have a princeling waiting to play with me.

An impudent little fox, wasn't it? But so long as his son was safe, Regis paid little mind. “Very well. I hope you continue to bring him wonderful dreams.”

> **(11:40 pm) Carbuncle:** You betcha!

If not in its earlier message, Regis knew he could place his trust in those two words.

  


Carbuncle was a constant companion, even if it was mostly a floating whimsy to everyone else's eyes.

Oftentimes the wet nurse would find the baby Prince with his hand wrapped around a stuffed fox's tail. Carbuncle was a popular character in children's books, its fluffy and cute demeanor innocent enough to function as a gateway to stories and legends of the gods. She found it no surprise that the King would add a toy Carbuncle to the child's growing collection of stuffed animals. Just, well, she expected something more cartoonish and not a near real-life rendition of a white fox with an actual gem inlaid on its forehead. But royalty would be royalty, she supposed, and only the highest quality was appropriate for the Crown Prince.

She did, however, find it odd that the toy would suddenly disappear and reappear at any given day.

  


It's when Noctis started babbling and walking that everyone began to realize just what powers were at play here; or rather, what powers Noctis was playing _with._

The guards saw it in the way the Prince would errantly chase at nothing, thinking he's merely playing with imaginary friends or make-believe. At first, they all found it amusing and adorable, only to later realize that it was all quite sad. A Prince having no one but himself to play with, due to his royal upbringing that estranged him from other children, and due to his mostly absent father, who tried as much as he could to spend time with his son but had an entire kingdom's burden on his shoulders.

But if they squinted and knew just where to look, they could see a small blur of white rounding the corner, followed by a Prince still learning about his clumsy legs. While not unprecedented, it was still extremely rare for a toddler to have a penchant for magic; and if the Lucis Caelum line was anything to go by, then Noctis was a prime candidate as a magic prodigy. It was magic, they thought, the Prince was playing with magic and the white fuzz was a product of that.

Except, when the blur slowly appeared less of a blur and more of a fox, the guards learned to change their tune. Most of them were, to be honest, a little freaked out to know their toddler Prince was playing tag with a Messenger of the gods. Because he was _playing_ with a servant of the _gods._ Meaning the Astrals were perfectly A-okay with it. Meaning the Prince held some sort of favor in their eyes. Meaning if anyone hurt a single hair on his pretty little head, there would be no point in asking the gods to have mercy on their soul because they were most likely, no most definitely, screwed.

Yet the guards unanimously agreed it was far better knowing Noctis had a friend, that he wasn't so alone after all.

So when Carbuncle turned its large black eyes — unnaturally deep and infinitely wise and _promising retribution_ should anything befall the Prince — at a set of guards patrolling the corridor, they did not _probably_ swallow down terror at the sight of a little boy nuzzling his nose into a little fox's fur.

Because they _absolutely_ did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all actually a cover-up for self-indulgence, bc i wanted a subtle-but-not-really OP Noctis with the gods at his every beck and call. And I really love Noctobaby.


	2. Shiva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Momma Shiva to the rescue.

The earths quaked, and the skies thundered; the seas churned with rage, and Ravatogh burned with magma. 

When Regis finally,  _ finally _ made it to the wreckage littered with flames and dead Crownsguard, he desperately hoped for anything but the worst. 

He found the carcass of a Marilith, and the monumental sword cleaved right through the daemon's chest, golden blade gleaming through the firelight. He didn't have time to think how eerily similar it looked to the swords decorating the throne room, a homage to a certain god of war. It had been an afterthought, even, as he clutched his darling and fragile son to his chest, broken and bleeding and so close to death, as he whispered a dozen prayers to the gods and begged them to not take him just yet. 

  
  


When Noctis arrived in Tenebrae, he was quiet and scared, a ghost of the laughing child smothering the Citadel walls with handpaints. Carbuncle had done what it could, protecting the boy from the Scourge of his nightmares, and no amount of cuddles could heal the black poison that was slowly killing him. The Oracle, however, could. 

Queen Sylva started her work the moment Noctis settled in, drawing what Scourge she could get before the stress had tired her out. Which, to put it lightly, was concerning. Healing was taxing, yes, but she could go through no less than ten afflictions before the weariness finally settled in. Noctis was but one child, yet the sheer amount of Scourge running through his veins would be enough to kill a small town. 

Unfortunately, the process seemed to exhaust both parties. Sylva needed assistance to even stand, while Noctis broke into a blazing fever. Worse still, curatives were a no-go, leaving Noctis to suffer through the worst of it. Lunafreya, in all her gentle grace and infinite compassion, stayed at his bedside and held his burning hand well into the night, reading stories and offering her companionship. 

She nearly fell asleep herself, until Gentiana placed a light hand on her shoulder and bid her to bed. 

The quiet shuffling of shoes and the click of a closing door roused Noctis, and he blinked through the hot delirium of his fever and the pain of the Scourge, looking up with a large owlish gaze at Gentiana, who quietly sat at his bed and looked upon him with closed eyes. He knitted his eyebrows together, and his lips worked on words that he found difficult saying. 

Gentiana realized, upon seeing the gears and machinations working behind those baby blue eyes of his, that he could see the veil of glamor that hid her Astral’s form, the ice-white hair hidden beneath long black locks and the frigid blue skin coated in frost under her apparent human skin. She wondered what the boy saw, wondered if he saw the ripple in space that distorted her human likeness with her godly visage.  

“Shiva?” came the quiet, dry voice. 

“Yes, little prince.” Her red lips turned upwards into a comforting smile, as her cool fingertips brushed away his sweat-soaked bangs, pleased to know he put the pieces together. “And how does this small one know?” 

“Carbuncle told me about you, once.”

“Ah, the faithful Messenger.”

Noctis leaned into her cool touch, relishing the cold of her fingers against his burning skin. Shiva didn't seem to mind, and she held the palm of her hand against a round cheek, drawing a content sigh from the boy as he turned his face toward the chill. 

“Feels really good,” he croaked. 

“This one does not bear the magic to heal, but if it pleases the young Highness,” Shiva said, her fingers turning an ashen blue with frost, “I can tame the fire of your skin.” 

Noctis needed only to nod before Shiva returned her hand to his forehead, drawing the heat of his fever and cooling his pain with her innate chill. She stayed, one hand on the boy's face, the other leafing through the book Lunafreya had left behind. 

“Um, Shiva?” 

“Yes, dear Prince?” 

“Do… Do you have anymore stories? I think Luna read all the ones in there.”

“Many.” She smiled, putting the book away and reaching for the bedside lamp, angling it just so to cast light on the opposite wall. She lifted one hand, palm up and slender fingers stretched outwards, summoning forth a flurry of snow and ice to dance in the air. 

Noctis watched in fascination as her magic took shape, childish delight almost masking the stuffy heat behind his eyes and in his skin. He's seen his father command magic, seen the sparks cross his fingertips and the flames burn the ground and the ice freeze the air. But while Regis exuded power, Shiva's control was so intricate and majestic, crafting such details with finesse and grace. Noctis looked to the wall, where shadows moved and jumped, silhouettes cast by the god's snowy figures and frozen magics. 

“And so, there was once a world named Ivalice, a Star ruled by not only humans but other creatures and races as well.” 

Noctis watched with rapt attention, as Shiva conjured up shadows of other beings, of a bunny-eared race called the Viera, of scaley Bangaa, of Moogles and kings and queens and armored judges, as he let Shiva's gentle voice lull him into sleep, where Carbuncle waited in his dreams of a fantastical world named Ivalice. 

  
  


The next morning, everyone remarked how quickly the fever broke. Noctis shared a secret smile with Gentiana, who stood by Luna’s side as she tried to ease the burden on her mother, healing what she could as Sylva rested. Luna noticed Noct’s gaze settled on Gentiana, remembering she hadn’t formerly introduced her yet, and entirely unaware of what had transpired the night before.

“I’m sorry, Noctis, I forgot to introduce you two. This is Gentiana, a Messenger of the Astrals,” Luna said, nodding her head toward the woman.

“Oh, Genti… ana?” Noctis was sure her name was Shiva, who was an Astral herself rather than a Messenger. His gaze flickered between Luna and Gentiana. 

The woman merely offered a knowing smile, her eyes opening just enough to spare a glimpse of green, as she lifted a single finger to her lips. Noctis knew what a gesture of secret meant, and he had no desire to betray her trust in him. 

“Um, hi, Gentiana,” he played along. 

“Hello, my Prince.” Gentiana placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it the barest squeeze. 

  
  


No one said it, but they all noticed. 

Noctis grew a bit brighter each day, his smiles still reserved but more heartfelt. Fear slowly melted from his tense shoulders as he relaxed into the care of the Fleurets. The servants all found it endearing to see Noctis and Luna together, surrounded by the sylleblossoms and the two dogs bounding across the fields. He laughed a bit louder, a bit more free, in the wide expanse of the garden and the clean, almost holy, air. 

And as much time as he spent with Luna, he spent just as much of the day with Gentiana. The servants all thought her to be kind in her own sort of way; she never raised her voice or gave any sign of ire. Always patient, always understanding. But there was a sort of frigid regality that made her unapproachable, and no one aside from the young Lunafreya was able to get past that invisible barrier. Until Noctis, that was. 

Just as the Prince slowly regained what he once was, they could see the permafrost drip off her chilly exterior. They noticed her smiles of cold politeness turn just a bit warmer, a touch more sincere, when her eyes crinkled ever so slightly in silent but genuine laughter when Noctis mentioned something particularly amusing. Rather than a cold marble statue, she moved fluidly, not quite as reserved with her gestures as she once was, humoring the Prince and his request of playtime. And whatever odd language they sometimes spoke, they figured it was out of some make-believe.

The staff whispered among themselves, remarking the subtle but drastic change in both Prince and Messenger. One mentioned how this was the most of an expression he had ever seen on Lady Gentiana's face. 

“Look, I totally get it. But do you remember last week? When everyone heard the news about the daemon attack?” someone chimed in. 

They all collectively shuddered. That had been the first time they ever saw her look so  _ furious.  _ It wasn’t so much of her faial expression as much as it was the sheer aura of murderous rage that suffocated the very air around her. Even Lunafreya had difficulty in calming her down, pulling her outside among the sylleblossoms to speak soft words of reassurance. When one of the curious maids had taken the chance to peak outside, she had seen only the lone Princess in a circle of frost-tipped blossoms, with Gentiana nowhere to be found. 

It had been the next day when they saw her at Luna's side again, serene and placid as she had always been. They had all heard the news that day, when Niflheim had been suddenly thrown under howling storms of ice and snow, effectively halting whatever military plans they had been working on. Good, they all sighed in relief, except.

No one but the gods knew why Shiva was so pissed off, and why she had decided to act only now. They had thought to ask Luna and Gentiana, but no one had managed the courage to. It would be years before they finally pieced everything together. When the entirety of Eos discovered the Lucian Prince had the gods in his very palm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Astrals, huddled around Noctis and spoon-feeding him ice cream, probably: We've only had the Prince for a day and a half. But if anything happened to him, we would kill everyone on Eos and then ourselves.


	3. Ramuh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor doesn't get paid enough for all this, so it's a good thing he loves his nephew and son as much as he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Dad/Uncle!Cor.

“Cor! C'monnnn,” Noctis whined and tugged on his sleeve, dragging him down the dirt trail. “Nyx! You too, let's go!”

Behind him, Cor heard a low and breathy laugh.

“Patience, little king,” the glaive replied.

In one week, Noctis would be turning twelve. The entire Citadel was running itself ragged as everyone prepared for the yearly celebration, but the hustle and bustle had soured the boy's mood for the past few days.

“Everyone's too busy to play with me! Even Iggy's been helping his uncle lately,” Noctis had complained one day, barging into Cor's office as if he had every right to.

Regis had pulled Cor aside that day — which had been mostly spent taking his pseudo nephew out for ice cream and fishing — and had asked him for a special favor, though not like he could refuse a request from the king. But as deep as his loyalty ran and as much as he loved Noctis, he had almost flat out said _fuck no._ Almost.

Because Prompto Leonis, his own adopted son, was a handful himself, and he could only imagine what sort of hellride a 4-hour drive stuck with two brats would be. But Cor was a loyal friend and currently the #1 uncle, and he'd be damned if Clarus stole that spot. He had _just_ swiped that title last month from Drautos, and he had not missed the little treats and outings Clarus had been offering Noctis as of late.

At the least, he had Nyx Ulric to suffer with him. Or so Cor had thought.

He was almost positive Nyx had made the trip worse, and the damn man had been fully aware. He had made for a piss-poor navigator and an awful second mate but for gods’ sake, Nyx had played the theme song of that ridiculous Malboro cartoon on loop, much to the kids’ delight. Two shrill voices screaming out the lyrics as a grown man sang along with them had made for a very unhappy Marshal. After nearly an hour of the same damn tune playing over and over and _over,_ Cor had thought the torture was finally done when Nyx, thank the gods, played a new song.

Except it had been the Chocobo theme song. By the fourth repeat, Cor had promptly pulled over at the closest gas station and dragged Ulric out of the Regalia, telling the boys to behave as the adults made to replenish their snacks and turning to punch Nyx squarely in the gut before the boys had a chance to look.

And here they finally were, at Wiz's Chocobo Ranch, the two boys skipping and squeaking with childish delight as they tugged and pushed at the older men, firing off orders to hurry up so they could see the birds already.

“Noct, look at them! They're so cuuuuuute!” Prompto practically yelled, running off to stoop before a particularly plump chocobo chick. Cor thought his son looked ready to burst into tears and out of sheer joy.

Noctis caught up in no time at all, squatting beside Prompto to pet the baby bird. A large grin split across his face, and he whirled his head around to look up at Cor with his big round eyes and ask, “Do you think Dad will —”

“No.”

“But I didn't —”

“I already know what you're going to ask, and it's no.”

Noctis puffed out his cheeks and huffed, but both of them knew his pout would last little more than two seconds. Soon enough the boy returned to petting the chick, which was soon accompanied by a small flock of them. Apparently the other birds wanted attention and pets as well, and one was even bold enough to flap its dinky little wings and _pounce_ into Noctis’ chest, knocking him off balance and onto his bottom.

Quickly, the whole flock was upon them, all soft kwehs and puffed feathers as they battled for their attention, and the two quickly drowned in sweet giggles and fluffy yellow down.

“Best. Birthday. Ever!” Noctis laughed, tiny hands trying to pet each little bird on him. Prompto wordlessly agreed with the sentiment; he looked absolutely euphoric.

Seeing that the chicks posed little danger, Cor left Nyx, who was busy snapping pictures of the kids, to stay with them as he walked farther down to greet the owner and see if they could rent some birds for the day.

  
  


They learned fast.

After having their fill of bird petting and Wiz's sandwiches, the two boys had been eager to learn chocobo riding. Prompto had only fallen off twice, tumbling onto the soft hay of the practice course with soft grunts before hopping back on like a champ. Noctis had taken to it like he did fishing, and in under an hour, learned how to brace himself and get his bird to hop and glide through the air.

Cor just hoped all this didn't inspire them to become professional chocobo jockeys in the future.

“I'll race you kiddos to that hill,” Nyx challenged, pulling up next to the boys.

Neither of them could resist the challenge, and before Cor could protest and tell them to stay along the trail, the three burst off in a cloud of dust and grass.

Cor rolled his eyes. He hadn't put much stock into Nyx, given his history and reputation among the Kingsglaive, but it still disappointed him to know he was the only responsible adult around here. He gently spurred his bird into a canter, chasing after the juvenile three.

“Wuh-oh. Looks like rain, boys,” he heard Nyx say when he finally reached the hill. Noctis and Prompto were sulking, meaning Nyx must have won.

While the man was right, Cor found the sudden weather change surprisingly odd. The forecast predicted all sunshine and clear blue skies; now, dark clouds blotted out the sun and the light raindrops warned of a heavier storm.

Cor didn't miss the way Noctis went stiff as he raised his eyes to the sky, or the pensive look on the boy’s face. Noctis probably shared the same sentiments, upset that their field day would be interrupted by rain.

“We ought to find shelter before the rain comes down in force.” Cor advised, more of an order than a suggestion.

Noctis twisted his lips and scanned the horizon, eyes searching the cracks of a particularly large cliffside. “There!” he pointed a finger at an alcove dug out of the rock.

Before anyone could protest, Noctis lightly tapped his feet against the sides of his bird, and they were gone in a blur of black and yellow as they sped down the hill. Nyx was the first to sprint after them, soon followed by Prompto. Cor spared himself a few seconds to shake his head before chasing after the errant Prince. He was going to suggest returning to the Chocobo Post, but it was obvious he had no say in the matter. He tugged on his reins and followed.

By the time Cor caught up, the drizzle had turned into a heavy downpour in the span of a minute. He frowned, leading his Chocobo out of the rain and into the cave — not because of how his drenched clothes made an uncomfortable sensation but for Noctis. Today was supposed to be the boy's vacation from palace life, his early birthday present before he's forced to stand and smile for the media; because even if it's the young boy's birthday, politics and royal obligations would always come first. And yet, even now, his respite was cut short by black clouds and unrelenting rain. The kid just couldn't catch a break, now could he?

Cor brought his chocobo to the small campfire Nyx was tending to, no doubt having abused his gifted Kingsglaive magic to start it. At Nyx's side, Prompto sat on his haunches and watched the man coax the flames with his bare hands, completely enraptured at how the glaive’s skin did not blister or burn. Cor shot a threatening glare at Nyx. If his son ever got the idea to stick his hand in there, then Nyx better be prepared to face the Immortal because he would not live to tell the tale. The other seemed to take notice and felt the weight of Cor's promise, as he quickly withdrew his hands and started lecturing Prompto on the proper use of magic and to not stick one's hands in a campfire.

Satisfied, Cor looked away to see Noctis’ small form stand at the edge of the firelight, the boy's back facing him while staring into the deeper depths of the cavern. He hoped the boy wasn't too sullen at the interruption, hoped there would still be something left to end their trip on a high note.

“Noctis, come here and warm yourself, or your father will no doubt fire me when you catch a cold.”

No response.

“Noctis?” Cor wondered if he was crying, mood soured and day of chocobo riding ruined, and facing away to hide his upset tears from them.

Noctis turned, no sign of tears despite the rain that dripped down his bangs, and pointed into the darkness behind him. His eyes were bright with curiosity and something else Cor couldn't quite place — something foreign, something _beyond_ — but at least it wasn't grief. Noctis looked strangely appeased despite everything. “I want to go look inside. Can we go inside, Uncle Cor?”

“Absolutely not,” he immediately shot back.

“But _Coooor!”_

Nyx handed the stick he had been using to prod at the campfire, over to Prompto who really had no business playing around with a smoldering stick. Cor leveled a _look_ at Nyx, but he shrugged it off and said, “Aw, Marshal, let the kid live a little. I mean, it's literally raining on his chocobo parade.”

“Only to have his Highness mauled by whatever daemon lurks within? Don't think so, Ulric.” Cor stepped around and took the burning stick from Prompto before his son accidentally hurt himself, and tossed it into the fire.

“Okay, fair enough, so I'll cut a deal,” Nyx said, standing up and dusting off the back of his pants. “I'll be the hero and go on ahead, hack down whatever big nasties are in there. Haven't met my daemon slaying quota this week anyway. And if I don't make it out alive, that's one less person singing the Chocobo theme song on the ride back.”

Prompto perked up, his short attention span eager for something to latch onto now that he had no means to poke the campfire with. “Ooh, ooh, I wanna come and watch!”

“Prompto Leonis, no.”

“But dad!”

Nyx placed a hand over his heart and feigned the pain of betrayal. “Hey now, little bird, thought you liked me. Don't know how I should feel about you wanting to watch daemons eat my hide. But you stay here with your dad and Noctis, okay? Somebody's gotta keep them out of trouble.”

As if that somebody hadn't been Cor this whole time.

“Okay, fine.”

Cor was not jealous that Nyx had so easily cowed his son.

“Hey, Nyx?” Noctis piped up, tugging on the glaive's belt loop.

“Yeah, little starlight?”

“I don't think there's any daemons in there, but tell me if you find, um.” Noctis hesitated, withdrawing his hand to fiddle his fingers together. A nervous tick of his, Cor recognized. Noctis scrunched his nose and glanced back at the darkness before turning back around with a huff. “A tree? I think.”

Both Nyx and Cor found the request odd and downright suspicious, the two men sharing a glance with each other.

“Don't think any trees grow in caves but alright, Highness.” Nyx lightly ruffled the Prince's hair, resulting in a squawking Noctis batting away the offending hand. He offered one of his infuriating grins as he swiped a hefty branch from the campfire, his other hand summoning a kukri in a show of sparks and magic.

“Don't you kiddos have too much fun without me!” Nyx called over his shoulder as he ventured into the cave.

Cor watched until the light of his torch vanished into the darkness. Nyx was capable enough, whatever daemon that lurked within would certainly pale in comparison to the behemoths Nyx had slain. Cor looked over to Prompto, saw that he was occupied trying to shake the rain off himself like a wet dog, and turned his attention to Noctis.

“I'm sorry that it's raining. I know you and Prompto were looking forward to this.”

Noctis shrugged his shoulders and stepped closer to the campfire, across from Prompto lest his shake-like-a-dog method got him even more wet. “It's okay. It shouldn't last long anyway. And it's kinda like camping with Gladio and Uncle Clarus. That's fun too.”

Huh. Another surprise. Cor had expected an upset and sullen Prince, but he was handling it all exceedingly well. He couldn't help the tinge of pride in his chest, but he could put that aside for now because…

“A tree.”

Noctis looked away from the flames to return Cor's questioning gaze. “A white tree,” he elaborated, as if it made complete sense.

“A white tree in a cave, Noctis.”

“Yeah. That's what he said.”

“He? Who is —”

A smoldering torch flew from the darkness and landed inches away from Cor’s feet. He dodged just in time to narrowly avoid Nyx, who warped onto the torch in a flurry of sizzling sparks, skidding across the stone from the momentum of the warp strike.

“Miss me?” he said through his lop-sided grin.

 _“Ulric,”_ Cor hissed, not at all amused by the play. “Was that necessary?”

“Not really, but do I have news for you boys.” Nyx straightened himself up and looked at Noctis. “There really is a tree there, or at least it looks like a petrified tree. The cave doesn't run that deep and there's this small area in the end with an open ceiling. But there's a turn and a narrow passage that keeps the light from reaching here.”

“And no daemons,” he added, turning to Cor.

“See! I want to go, Cor! _Puh-leaaaaaase._ ” And of course, Noctis hit him with the puppy eyes. Oh gods, the puppy eyes.

It didn't help that Prompto joined in, hopping over to hug his hip and begging with the same pleading look in his eyes. “Daaaad, can we go? I wanna see too!”

 _‘Six, when did Noctis teach him that look?’_ Cor dragged a hand down his face and groaned. It was hard enough to deny Noctis when he pulled his trump card out. But being double-teamed by both nephew and son? Impossible. Not even the Astrals would be able to resist, he believed.

So of course, he relented.

Noctis skipped alongside Nyx, Prompto beside Cor, the two adults carrying the torches lest the children fall over and burn themselves. Nyx was right. There was a sudden curve in the tunnel, a narrow passageway that allowed only one person at a time. Noctis and Prompto were small enough to walk through with ease, but Cor and Nyx had to squeeze in sideways and shuffle across.

Being the last one and barely making it through, Cor saw Noctis dash off to the center, where the muted light shone down through the craggy opening above. He could see the dark clouds looming above, where rain fell from the skies in heavy droplets.

Except, the cavern was dry.

Logic and physics would say the area should be wet, that the open ceiling meant the rain should be falling through. But not even a single drop made it in, as if some pristine window or barrier blocked everything from above. Cor could feel the wind, the vacuum created by the difference in depth and temperature and structure — just no rain.

Superstition made him wonder if this place was cursed or perhaps blessed, like the havens scattered across Eos to protect and shelter from the night's daemons. He couldn't _feel_ anything ominous, and his senses and instincts had always been able to point out any dangers before they happened. Still, concern and caution kept him on edge, and he almost panicked when his brief moment of wonder distracted him from seeing Noctis darting forward. From reaching out his hands to place them against the smooth bark of a white, petrified tree.

And really, the Prince should not be going around touching things willy-nilly, especially if they were in a place as mysterious and unknown as where they were now. Even Nyx was stepping forward to yank the boy off.

 _“Noctis.”_ Cor warned. Or tried to.

A blinding strike of lightning had him seeing white, and he physically recoiled from the sudden flashbang, going so far as to reach a hand above his tightly shut eyes. An ungodly boom of thunder drowned out his voice and shook his very bones. Even the ground rumbled beneath him, and he briefly wondered if the cavern would collapse in on them.

Cor blinked the stars out of his eyes, and he immediately searched for Noctis through the blurry edges of his vision. And he's not sure if it's a trick of the light and his eyes still adjusting, but he saw violet sparks dance across the limbs of the ancient tree and arc over to Noctis’ arms. When he blinked again, there's no lights or magic, just the delighted laugh of a boy as he cupped his hands beneath something.

“This is so cool. Thanks!” he hears Noctis say. The Prince whirls around, holding some giant gray lint ball in his two hands. “Hey, look what I got!”

Noctis trots over to them. And, well. Hm.

Cor stared, blinked twice for good measure, and really _looked_ at what Noctis was holding. What he initially thought was some lumpy ball of dust and lint was not some small heap of trash after all.

It _floated,_ like some mini storm cloud.

No. It _was_ a mini storm cloud.

“What the fuck.”

Nyx stole the words right out of his mouth, and he's so dumbfounded by it all he doesn't bother berating the glaive about his language. And it's honestly the only sentence Cor can think of right now.

“Oh! Are you gonna name it?” Prompto asked, entirely and one hundred percent okay with seeing a tangible floating baby cloud in Noctis’ hands. He even poked it, making an indent into its side where it quickly bounced back into shape. “It's kinda cute.”

“Um. I don't know yet. Cloudy?”

“Cloudy McCloudface.”

“That's kinda long.”

“I guess Cloudy works.”

‘Cloudy’ seemed happy with its name, shifting and undulating and spouting out a few raindrops as it shifted from a stormy gray to a soft white. _Good Shiva,_ was that thing sentient?

Cor realized he had a lot of explaining to do once they returned, and he's not sure if he can when he’s sure he's been struck by some Confusion ailment. Because surely, there was not a literal cloud riding along Noctis’ shoulder, tagging along as they backtracked through the passage and returned to the campfire.

“You're actually seeing this, right, Marshal? I didn't slip and hit my head or something?” Nyx asked, staring incredulously at Noctis and his newest companion.

“I honestly don't know, Ulric.” Cor thought tripping and hallucinating from a bad fall on the head made far more sense than whatever they were seeing now.

  
  


“Look, it stopped raining,” Prompto pointed out, dashing out of the cave to soak in the bright sunshine. The ground was still marshy, still soaking up the torrent that had rained down upon them only moments before. “Really weird weather, huh? Wasn't it supposed to be just _sunnnyyyyyeeohmygoddad.”_

Prompto's screech was almost as inhuman as the one from above.

Cor switched from father to soldier in half a heartbeat, snatching Prompto by the collar of his shirt and hefting him behind, using his body as a barrier between his son and the griffon soaring above them. Its sharp eyes honed in on the group, no doubt deciding which of the four made for the tastier meal — probably Prompto or Noctis — as it beat its massive wings and hovered in the air. Considering the stance of it, with its deadly claws aimed at the ready, it was ready to strike at any time. From the corner of his eye, Cor saw Nyx hover over Noctis, kukris drawn at the ready as the Prince gripped the back of the glaive's jacket.

“Great timing,” Nyx groaned, flipping a blade in his hand. “I thought the only birds we signed up for were chocobos, not griffons.”

“Stop complaining, Ulric.” Cor kept his eyes trained on the giant predator, one hand on the hilt of his katana, the other protectively hovering over Prompto's shoulder. If he was careful, he could take the griffon on well enough, and he knew Nyx could carve it like a holiday cockatrice for a Thanksgiving dinner. But there was the burden of both his son and the Prince, both liabilities and dire weaknesses.

“Prompto, Noctis, get back in the cave,” he ordered, before the griffon decided to strike.

“Uh. Actually, I think —”

_“Noctis, now.”_

“But wait! He's gonna take care of it!”

Cor wasn't in the mood for backtalking right now, but he did have to wonder who ‘he’ was. Still, questions were for later, not having the royal heir mangled was for now. He's ready to give that last command, to use his Marshal voice on Noctis, but whatever words he chose would be drowned out by the explosion that boomed in the air.

Lightning from seemingly _nowhere_ webbed through the skies and struck the griffon in a tangle of shocks and sparks. A burning odor wafted through the air, accompanied by a terrified keen as singed feathers flew and fluttered from the beast. Whatever it was, it wasn't enough to strike down the griffon, but it seemed to be spooked and injured enough to go retreating into the horizon.

Right as all rain, Prompto weaved out from Cor’s protective stance and picked up one of the burnt feathers, still smoking from the lightning strike, and tried to blow out the red embers that tinged the edges. “That was scary.”

“Yeah, you can say that again, little bird,” Nyx said, tension easing out of his voice. “And, uh. Weird.”

“Thanks, Ramuh!” Noctis suddenly yells at the sky, hands cupped around his mouth.

“What — _What the fuck.”_

Again, Cor didn't bother warning Nyx for his language. He felt the exact same sentiments.

He also wished he was hallucinating. Cor had looked up to where the others were staring — Noctis and Prompto waving gleefully while Nyx looked on with something akin to terror — and he had found himself looking up at _the_ Ramuh, the legendary Fulgurian and wise master of the storms.

He suddenly felt very tiny.

Ramuh nodded, his gigantic form already fading back into the Astral realm, and he. He even waved back. Was Cor supposed to wave? Having been at Regis’ side throughout all his roadtrips and antics, he thought he experienced all there was to be had, but not even Regis ever called upon the gods or communed with them. (Bahamut didn't count either.) Was there some sort of etiquette to this?

But before Cor can even think to bow or kneel or pray or whatever, Ramuh disappeared among the cloudless skies, leaving no trace but the burnt feathers of the griffon he had struck.

And as he and Nyx silently watch the two boys run around to gather the fallen griffon feathers, Cor feared for whoever would cross Noctis, because not only would they have to answer to Regis but to Ramuh as well, most likely. And if one god was involved, then perhaps all six of them were.

Noctis’ pet cloud bobbed along the Prince's head. And Cor was reminded he was responsible for explaining all this to Regis.

“What the fuck,” he let himself whisper, dragging a tired hand down the side of his face.

“Language, Marshal.”

Nyx warped out before Cor could punch him in the gut, joining the boys and helping them pick up the scattered feathers.

Cor ended up helping.

  
  


When they finally return home, Cor went straight to his office and pulled out an age-old whiskey he had been patiently saving. He poured himself three fingers of the amber poison, and sat himself right in front of the wall. There, he saluted at the corkboard mounted above, full of pictures with Noctis and Prompto and cut-out letters spelling ‘Do It For Them,’ and tossed the drink back.


	4. Leviathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reggie freaks out. Noctis brings out the ‘mother’ in Tidemother.

Accordo was nothing like Lucis.

The Crown City of Insomnia had her bright lights and towering buildings, monumental things that pierced the skies and scraped the inner Wall, Regis’ magic barely able to cover the entirety of their city. During the day, the sun gleamed harshly across her pillars of steel and glass, heated the concrete and asphalt until they threatened to blister. At night, the loud thrum of life never faltered, and the marching steps of commuters and businessmen only walked to a different tune. The lights switched on, the obnoxious neons and LEDs lighting billboards or storefronts and shady nightclubs, and the streets were filled with white headlights and the purr of engines. She was a carefully constructed system, all sharp edges and manufactured borders, and boasted the culmination of technology and ancient magics.

Altissia, however, was a stark but lovely contrast. While Insomnia was surrounded by steel and earth, Altissia bathed herself in sparkling waters and soft stone and perfumed air. There was history in every marred brick, a living piece of art whose splendor shone in her architecture and people. Life bustled here, but not in the same way as Insomnia whose citizens were much like drones in a hive; they were like schools of fish, some lazily flitting about or scurrying this way and that in vibrant spurts of energy. 

Regis loved his kingdom and his city, and he was a king proud of all that he's protected and helped nurture. But he couldn't deny the breathtaking sights and the savory scents of Altissia. It had been years since he last set foot in this nation, when he had been but a young man set out on a diplomatic mission to build relations between Lucis and Accordo. Now, with the threat of Niflheim pulled back into its den — for however long that would be — he held high hopes he could finish what he had once failed to do. 

Regis, accompanied by Cor and Clarus and a handful of council members, walked down the ornate brickwork as they followed Lady Claustra's advisor through the city. With one hand raised and held tightly, he occasionally looked away from the beautiful artwork and sculptures that filled the plazas and stole a few glances at Noctis, who had decided he'd rather walk atop the narrow stone fencework that kept its tourists from falling into the waters. No one had the heart to remind the prince of his manners, not when this was his first time overseas ever since Tenebrae; and children, even royalty, deserved to behave as children. So Regis kept his grip firm but gentle, helping keep his boy steady as he nimbly put one foot in front of the other on what could have been a balance beam. 

Noctis listened with rapt attention to the cries of gulls and the crash of waves all intermingled with the bustling noise of tourists and street music; and when his eyes  _ gleamed _ with such innocent excitement, even hardened councilman Ferriam caved and bought a pretty little berry tart from a street vendor for the young prince. Noctis devoured it in record time. 

Beyond their retinue, where several people stood and watched in shared whispers and pointing fingers, there were those who recognized their faces, the Lucian black suits, and the Draconian emblems emblazoned into their regalia. Some only watched in quiet awe or hushed murmurs, others were more bold — paparazzi, most definitely — and clicked on their cameras with wild abandon, the telltale sound of clicks and shutters going a mile a minute. Regis noticed the look shared between Clarus and Cor, the silent language of their subtle gestures and hidden expressions. No doubt news of their arrival would reach Niflheim and ultimately stir up some trouble. 

Accordo had been a target for  _ years,  _ barely able to keep neutral and fend off Niflheim’s political advancements, especially with the power play and snapshots of military strength Aldercapt and his men liked to remind the world of. But hopefully, with the very odd but very appreciated winterstorm that battered and froze over the nation, Lucis could take advantage of the weather phenomenon and make alliances where she could, and hopefully, end the tensions that threatened them all. 

Regis knew he should think of the repercussions of the paparazzi — though his council had already planned for the worst and worked out contingency plans — but Noctis’ wide smile and glimmering eyes were a potent distraction. And infectious. He could feel a warm smile creeping up on his own face. Maybe, he blithely hoped, the reporters and journalists would get a decent candid shot, so he could clip it out of the newsprint and save it in his scrapbook. 

  
  
  


It's the third day of their diplomatic visit when Regis about tore his hair out, one second away from breaking all protocol and proper decorum. 

Everything had been smooth sailing. Claustra had kept her sharp wits and no-nonsense tone as expected, but she had been very open to his proposed terms and possible alliance. Their talks had only hit minor roadblocks, conditions that could easily be tailored to suit both nations’ needs, marked with little to few resistances on either sides. Clarus and Cor had actually learned to relax a little, as they were somehow delegated to be Noctis’ fishing partners when the boy dragged both of them by the hands to a pier. Last month, Noctis had figured out how to stuff more things into his Armiger, namely a rod and tackle box when he had become so engrossed in the hobby. (Regis had wiped a proud tear from his eye, and wondered what shenanigans his son would inevitably come up with.)

His darling boy had even eaten  _ vegetables.  _ Altissia's culinary greatness had managed to get Noctis to eat peas and broccoli, and Regis was still debating whether or not to abuse his authority as king to swipe whoever the chef had been and slap a visa on them. He could bring them back to Insomnia as Noctis’ personal chef, and Claustra wouldn't be  _ too _ upset if he did, or so he hoped. 

But that idea was tossed to the side, and a prince's personal chef would be pointless with no prince to cook for. Since Noctis was  _ missing.  _

A handful of Crownsguard and battle-sharpened warriors and  _ still _ the Prince somehow slipped out of sight. Were he not a patient and understanding king, Regis would be counting how many heads he needed to roll. 

It had been Cor who rushed to his side and delivered the news first, right when the meeting called for a recess. Noctis had been strolling about the piers with a few guards — or so it was supposed to be — and when his keepers had turned their eyes for a split moment,  _ poof.  _ No royal heir to be seen, yet no sign of a struggle or silent kidnapping. 

It took every remembrance of childhood lessons on grace and poise to keep Regis from gunning down the hallway, but his power walk and stark expression kept everyone out of his way. He only paused when Clarus placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, pinning him to his spot, and Regis reeled his head around to glare him down with a tempest and an inferno in his eyes. 

“Clarus, I expect a good reason for you to —”

“Altar. Someone reported a child with Noctis’ description at the altar.” Clarus pressed two fingers to the small receiver in his ear, his lips set in a tight grim line. 

_ ‘Bahamut help me,’ _ Regis silently cursed but wasting no time. The Altar of the Tidemother was not only a sacred place of history, its original monuments and the altar itself dating back centuries, but a place of terrifying power. Leviathan was known to take on many forms, from a lithe woman with a sea creature's tail to a towering monstrosity that matched Titan's might. And while her visage changed throughout the history books, her temper did not. Despite Accordo's worship and homage to her, the Astral was known for her ferocity and rage, the tsunamis and ocean storms and gaping maw that could swallow entire islands. She didn't share Shiva's fondness for humans and only tolerated them, at least until her promised time of the Feeding. 

And since she had no trouble eating whole cities, she would have no reservations with snapping her cruel teeth around a small boy — royalty or not. 

But Regis? He had no qualms with throwing down with the god, even if it meant throwing a lasso around her scaly neck and riding her like a seahorse jockey. 

  
  
  


When he heard Noctis’ scream, Regis nearly catapulted himself into the waters. 

There, within the tidepool was the Hydraean herself, an immense serpentine creature that made midgardsormrs look like groveling worms. Every twitch of her muscle sent waves across the waters, threatening to drown the surrounding paths and stonework, to sweep Regis and his guards off their feet and pull them into her tides. Thick, swirling tendrils of sea rose into the air, some spiraling into each other in a criss-cross puzzle of ringlets, others taking a transparent form and mimicking the great god herself. Physics bent to her will, gravity failing to keep what should  _ not _ be dancing across the sea salt air. What should not be his  _ son _ trapped in a vortex of rushing waters. 

Regis’ heart leaped to his throat, and he heard Clarus and Cor curse beside him. Taking no chances and letting no precious time waste, he sweeped his arm to the side to summon forth his sword — because yes, he was going to flay Leviathan like a fish fillet or die trying — 

“Hi, dad!” 

Regis  _ choked _ , and it wasn't on the errant sea water that splashed across his face. His magic sputtered, along with the fear and terror that had gripped his limbs and mind. (So perhaps flinging oneself at a raging god was not the smartest idea, especially when one is king and still has a nation to guide, but he panicked.)

Noctis, high above the waters and cradled within a swirling Leviathan mimic, waved both his arms in wide arcs above his head. His smile was as blinding as the sun that reflected off the watery vortexes and the Hydraean's pearlescent scales. The watery serpent, however, as if miffed by the shift of attention, took the boy by the scruff and tossed him higher into the air. 

Noctis screamed again, much like the scream that had nearly paralyzed Regis. Much like the scream of a child's laughter and glee, the father later realized. 

Leviathan herself rose up from the tidepool, catching the falling boy atop her head. But her scales were smooth and slick with sea, and Noctis coasted down her back at a blood rushing speed as she guided him toward one of her lower fins. A quick flick sent him flying into the air once more, rewarding her with another excited whoop from Noctis. 

Leviathan, apparently, made for the ultimate waterpark. The thought was almost as jarring as the knowledge that she wasn't going to eat Noctis after all, that she seemed perfectly content at sporting herself as a gargantuan water slide. 

Regis could count on one hand how many times he's been left speechless and daft, but he'll take adding another finger and a soaked boy than have his son eaten alive. 

Though as much as he wanted to believe Leviathan meant no harm, he wasn't relieved until Noctis slipped down a solid slide of water and landed back on firm ground, taking a few stuttering steps to find his balance again. With no grand announcement, Leviathan sank beneath her waters once more, withdrawing her powers back and leaving nothing but some light flooding in her departure.

Noctis shook the sea from his hair and limbs before looking up at his father with bright blue eyes and a mischievously angelic smile. 

Regis bent down, ready to scoop his son into his arms, but a booming voice had him and everyone else cringing and withdrawing into themselves. Noctis, the dear boy, looked entirely unaffected and swiveled around to step closer to the water's edge. 

Breaching the surface, a pale hand gripped the stone at Noctis’ feet. 

Regis, with bated breath, could only look on as a tall woman hoisted herself over the edge, dark hair sticking to her bare skin and a shimmering black  _ tail _ resting in the waters. She smiled warmly at Noctis, who's standing height barely reached her shoulders, and lovingly patted down his wayward hair, wicking the ocean and moisture from his locks and clothes. When her hands reached his sides, she teased her fingers into his ribs and frowned, narrowing her golden eyes before flicking her gaze to Regis. 

Her sudden sharp gaze was unnerving to say the least, but when she spoke, it was in that same ancient language and resounding tone, and Regis knew this woman was unmistakably Leviathan, despite never having seen her in physical form before now. She seemed a bit cross at him, judging by her furrowed brows and judgmental stare, but he couldn't figure out  _ why. _ Not without an Oracle or Messenger to play translator. 

“Hey! I'm not a stick!” the boy whined. 

Noctis pouted, puffing his cheeks out at Leviathan. She turned to him, gaze turned soft once more, and petted his head. When she murmured again in her archaic tongue, he grumbled some breaths and looked down at his feet, her soft ministrations doing little to settle his ire. “I eat! Lots. Like, um, chicken and sandwiches, if there's no tomatoes or lettuce. I like chili too, as long as it doesn't have beans. Beans are gross.”

At this, Leviathan gave him a suffering  look, even tutting at him, before she reached her hand into the waters and pulled out a small trinket. She unclasped her hand and held it to him, allowing his widened eyes to soak in the sight, before dangling the fishing lure in front of Noctis, waving the sparkling obsidian as bait before his eyes.

He reached both hands for it as she snatched it just out of his reach. The god waved her other finger at him, and shook her head, whispering another string of sounds. 

“What! Nooo,  _ please,  _ I hate beans.” Noctis lamented, stomping one foot against the stone. 

But while she would move the tides and torrents, she would not move for this, it appeared. If there was one thing Regus had to commend her for, it was for withstanding Noctis’ infamous puppy dog eyes. She raised the Leviathan lure higher. 

Noctis squeaked, hopping up and down as his fingers barely brushed against the smooth weight of his distant prize. It didn’t take long for him to surrender. “Okay, okay. Fine, I'll try eating more veggies,” he groaned and with an added, “Promise.”

Leviathan laughed, her echoes like the silent cold depths of her seas yet like the thundering crash of her torrents, an odd juxtaposition that seemed to phase in and out of itself. She dropped the lure in the boy’s cupped hands, watching as he turned the shining thing in his hands and marveled at the design. 

Before she slipped back into her waters, Leviathan turned her eyes to Regis, a predator’s deadly focus bearing down hard upon the king. 

And  _ this,  _ Regis knew, and he didn't need a translator to convey the message. Not with the razor sharp teeth she displayed in her lethal smile, a promise and a threat set at each serrated edge. It was the exact same look he silently exchanged with Clarus, Cor, and Titus when they took it upon themselves to treat Noctis, to bribe for the child's favor in their attempts of nabbing ‘#1 Uncle’ for the month. 

“Dad! Look what Leviathan gave me! It looks just like her.” Noctis ran up to Regis, proudly showing off the rare lure. Leviathan took the momentary distraction to swim off. 

Regis, taking several deep breaths and willing his nerves to calm, took both of Noctis’ hands in his. He didn’t so much at glance at the gift, and instead focused his eyes on his son, to ground himself through sight and touch. To make sure he wasn’t having a stroke or some hallucination. “I…” — his mouth dry, he cleared his throat and tried again — “Well.” Ah, hell. ”Yes, it certainly does, son.”

Noctis bobbed up and down on his heels, closing his hands around the lure and treating it as precious cargo. “I want to go fishing!  _ Pleaseeee. _ ”

Regis really should have expected that. And the begging puppy eyes. 

But being merely grateful that his son wasn't drowning in the belly of a sea god, he couldn't find himself to be upset. There was, perhaps, a pinch of fear still left, though he would have to later analyze just what that fear was directed at or stemmed from. 

“Of course, Noctis. I do believe I'll even have time later this afternoon to join you.” Regis glanced to the waters, expecting Leviathan to emerge again and surprise them all the more. “But could you tell me what she said to us earlier?” 

To commune with the gods fell on the shoulders of Oracles and Messengers. Yet for whatever reason, his son seemed to understand the Astrals just fine — another idea to digest at a later time, perhaps over a bottle of whiskey with Cor. 

Noctis huffed, obviously offended at his own answer, and poked at his little ribs. “She said I need to eat more.” 


	5. Titan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drautos ferries him to a festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised myself i'd bust out a chapter at the end of april, but im a week late (꒪⌓꒪)
> 
> (also, this somehow turned into a 'noctis and his uncles' fic??? oops.)

Noctis had been begging them for  _ years.  _

Of them all, Cor was always the first to crumble, the Immortal shogun but a mere peasant under Noctis’ small but terrifying thumb, therefore always the first target. Clarus and Drautos were on par with each other in terms of resilience, but it was only a matter of time before they too were defeated. 

Regis, somehow, had grown a resistance to his shining puppy eyes, saying “Not this year, son, how about next time?” and feeding him well-meaning but half-empty promises. 

But this year.  _ This year,  _ Regis finally decided to make good on his word and let Noctis attend the Assassin’s Festival. Regis wasn’t sure about letting a child attend an event centering around an  _ assassin _ — despite the festival’s claim it was good fun for everyone of all ages — but his son was too passionate about the video game series to deny him much more. And if it could fit in genuine history lessons that Noctis would lap up eagerly, he supposed it wasn't a terrible trade-off. (Never mind that they had two major departments, the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard, specializing in combat and that his son was already learning to play around with rubber practice daggers.) 

At dinner, a small cozy affair in Regis’ office, where they both sat on the floor and stained the carpet with pizza grease and marinara, Regis was careful to hide the festival tickets under a manila folder, haphazardly throwing a few important documents around it for good measure. Noctis sat across from him, his little handheld console showing off a red “Game Over” on a black screen beside him, folding an extra cheesy pizza slice in half and stuffing his face with it. 

Noctis had wandered into his office with a little zipped-up case, asking if he could play his video game and promising to use his earbuds and keep the noise to a minimum. And the father in Regis had wanted to fall to his knees and clutch at his heart, letting all the feels of  _ “how can my son be this cute, holy gods.”  _ Somewhere along the way, Regis had grabbed a pen and the stack of paperwork and joined Noctis on the floor, Clarus playing delivery boy when they both decided to skip fine dining and go straight for the artery killers with a large Kenny’s Super Caw-licious Pizza. Extra cheese.

“Noctis,” Regis said, wiping his hands on a napkin before discreetly shuffling the stray papers around, “I know I kept promising to take you to the Festival these past few years. And a good King should keep his promises.”

Noctis tackled him to the ground, somehow cleanly vaulting over the shared box of pizza between them, one arm squeezing Regis in a hug and the other waving the tickets in the air with a victory whoop. 

  
  
  


“And we  _ have _ to wear these rags?”

“You have to. And they’re not rags!” 

Drautos tugged on the dusty scarf wrapped around his shoulders, grimacing at the way the not-rags hung off him. He was too used to the well-fitted coats and stiff leather the Kingsglaive afforded him, not the loose swaths of intentionally stained cloth that wrapped around him in loose stitches and strings. He wasn’t sure why Noctis didn’t allow him to wear the white shawl and hood that many of the others wore, but at least he was allowed to keep his shirt on, while other festival goers decided to go full-on cosplay mode and strip their chests bare wearing nothing but some strips of cloth over their torsos. Like little Noctis, who was still ooh-ing and aww-ing at his costume and the bits of plastic bronze that clung around his belt. 

Regis was supposed to be here. At least, that had been the idea when Drautos agreed to pick up the tickets in his stead, when he carefully handed off the goods to Regis in passing, as if they were trading contraband and not just tickets to some yearly festival. But as the fates would have it, some dignitaries from Cleigne were meeting with the King the very same week the Assassin’s Festival would run through. And the burden of chaperoning the Prince had fallen onto Drautos. 

Not that he’d complain, really. It had been some while since he could spend some quality time with the youngster, and Cor’s chocobo-birthday trip shot him way up on the #1 Uncle Leaderboards. He was going to get back his title, even if it meant whacking a thousand cactuars and winning that giant green plush as big as Noctis himself. Even if it meant suffering Lestallum’s heat in his shirt and costume. 

“Uncle!” Noctis excitedly tugged at his sleeve, pulling Drautos out of his Bop-To-The-Top plan. “Look, look!” 

The man obediently followed, letting himself be dragged off to a stall decorated with the festival’s usual fanfare. The whole city was draped in banners, all proudly declaring the first day of the Assassin’s Festival, with its official reds and whites. Balloons were tied to lamp posts and whatever else the coordinators could get them on, streamers of white and gold seemed to just float and fly around perpetually, and Drautos was just glad there wasn’t any confetti to accidentally swallow. He spotted larger balloons in the distance, all with a colored bull’s eye in their centers, and occasionally one or two would pop and spit out thin streamers. 

Probably some archery game, he thought, when Noctis prodded at his side and directed his attention back to the stall. Drautos sighed. 

It was a weapons stall — well, toy weapons. At first glance, even to the untrained eye, he could tell they were all made from plastic and mass-produced at some factory. They were supposed to be old, or rather, made to mimic the ancient weapons used during the fabled days of the Assassin. Small, round shields were set into rows, displaying their… poor craftsmanship and blunted edges, but at least there was more variety with the swords and daggers that came in different sizes and blades. 

Noctis picked up some odd contraption and rolled it around in both hands, eyeing the thing with bright eyes and an even brighter smile, before wrapping it around his wrist and testing its weight. He swiveled around, looking expectantly at Drautos and showing the brace off. “And then you just —”

The boy pressed something and out came a plastic blade from underneath his palm. Noctis hopped up and down on the balls of his feet, giggling with a glee Drautos didn’t really think should come from a prince excited by some plastic toy replica. 

Honestly. Noctis had an entire arsenal of weapons at his disposal, all very real and very sharp, that he could literally call upon at any time, no concealment trick needed. Though Regis and Cor had decided it was best to let Noctis only keep a shortsword and a practice dagger in there; he was still just a boy, they reasoned. Also, no one wanted their only heir to run down the hallway, chasing after Gladio with a greatsword and accidentally lopping off a finger. Or worse.

Still, Drautos trusted Noctis to be smarter than that, had even let the little thing stash a crossbow in there one night —  _ “Real bolts! I can keep them?!” _ Noctis had half-yelled — when the child dawdled in and asked to see some cool Kingsglaive tricks. Officially, there were still a couple years left before the Prince’s combat training began, but Noctis had been just raring to go and swing an actual sword around. Drautos liked to indulge him where he could, the simple stances he taught enough to satiate the boy. If only he could see that same enthusiasm in some of the Kingsglaive.  

Noctis poked him in the side with the blunt blade, looking up at him with big blue eyes and pursed lips. Drautos knew that look.  _ Everyone _ knew that look. 

“Noctis,” Drautos said, quirking a brow up, “We have rooms full of swords and polearms, the finest blades cut from mythril and orichalcum.” He waved a lazy finger at the toy. “And you want  _ that?”  _

Noctis shook his head up and down with such energy that it looked like his neck would detach from his shoulders. Drautos had to plant his hands on both sides of the boy's face, just to make sure he didn't give himself whiplash. 

Drautos didn't even ask why. He vaguely understood the reason behind it, the childish obsession and enthusiasm. But  _ still,  _ it was plastic. Yet it didn't stop him from paying for the thing and handing off a small bit of coin, while Noctis pumped his fist into the air. 

  
  
  


After  _ hours _ of whack-a-cactuar, archery tests, dagger slinging, and all manner of carnival games, Drautos was worn absolutely ragged like the dusty cosplay he wore. He all but threw everything into the trunk of the Regalia, on loan from Regis to ship Noctis to and from Lestallum, stuffing all the prizes and toys into whatever crevice he could manage. Captain of the Kingsglaive, worn down to aching feet and tired arms, all because of a little field day at a festival. Noctis could be a little monster of a brat when he wanted to be, a tiny fire that had not even reached puberty yet and Drautos didn’t want to imagine what kind of inferno that would entail. It’s a wonder how parents did it, managing their little pups. At least Regis had professional help to keep up with the young Prince, but being royalty tacked on a different level of parenting that the King seemed to handle well for the most part. 

But Drautos never signed up to be an uncle; that hadn’t been in the job description when he first joined Insomnia’s ranks. Yet one way or another, the little thing weaseled his way into his heart, and here he was — stuffing the spoils of their trip into the car with Noctis sitting in the backseat, his prized cactuar plush sitting beside him. And of course, leaving Drautos  _ aching _ to return to the Leville and cash in on his well-earned R&R. 

He would love to just wave Noctis into bed and go straight to sleep himself. Except his Royal Brattiness had insisted they make a trip down to the meteor before turning in for the night. Drautos had pointed out they could visit come the morning, but Noctis had been absolutely hellbent on going now. The boy even had the audacity to pull rank and use his Prince card, citing that he was the Crown Prince and Drautos was legally obliged to obey him. He had rolled his eyes at that, half miffed at the cheap shot Noctis lobbed at him, half amused at the absolute gall. 

“Alright, Noctis,” Drautos sighed, slipping into the driver’s seat and pulling the door with him, “Are you absolutely positive about —”

“Yeah, let’s go!”

From the rearview mirror, he caught a glance of Noctis shaking the cactuar toy in his lap, its L-shaped arms ready to fly off at the seams.

Well, it was worth the shot. Drautos pulled the car into reverse, making sure no passerby was sneaking about behind him, and crawled out of the parking lot to hit the highway. He suspected it was at least a good time for a drive, the roads clear for the most part with the sun setting dangerously low in the horizon. Daemon activity had been low as of late, but no one outside of Insomnia was willing to travel through the nights. The Crown City had her high beam headlights, some blend of UV and LED bulbs that repelled even red giants, but the cost of manufacturing was too high for the average person — though for royalty, it was a scant few coins pulled from their overflowing vaults.

The ride was tolerable, so had been the first drive from Insomnia to Lestallum. Or maybe he had more patience than Cor; then again, he didn’t have to deal with two kids and an adult who barely passed as one — he learned from Nyx himself that the Glaive tried his damned hardest to push all of Cor’s buttons. Over a couple beers and skewers, Nyx had given him the details, from the chocobo shenanigans to singing along with the kids and the bird theme song on a two-hour loop. But when he went over the little story about Ramuh, Drautos had believed it was the alcohol talking. Because really, a sentient raincloud? He was more likely to believe in a behemoth wearing a frilly pink tutu. 

But then.  _ But then,  _ he had been sipping on his afternoon coffee and scrolling through his phone for his daily news, when he saw cell phone footage of Leviathan. And Noctis. Of Leviathan and Noctis having a merry good time while a blurry Regis stood at the very edge of the video. The hot coffee he choked down, scalding his windpipe as it went, had been but the smaller price compared to Regis, and Drautos had no doubt the King lost a couple of years over that fiasco. Yet it had been in that moment, that he thought back to Nyx’s story and wondered how much of all that had been true and not some exaggerated spews of a cocky and drunk Glaive. 

And it was now, glancing back at Noctis peering through the tinted windows with mild fascination, that Drautos finally realized  _ why _ the boy was so adamant on going to the Disc. He never asked the reason for the sudden inclination, only asked if the visit couldn’t be put off for the morning, and he began to regret not asking.

“Noctis,” he began, clearing his throat. When the boy gave a non committal hum, Drautos continued. “Why do you want to see the Meteor?”

“To see Titan.”

_ Shit. _

  
  
  


Drautos has stared death in the face, glared at its cold unseeing eyes and forced it back with a warrior’s fire. He’s seen carnage and raining destruction, all the terrible sights of blood and oil and machine split and torn asunder, sounds and scenes that would have a greenhorn quake and puke on his own boots. Hell, he still suffered from occasional night terrors, terrible dreams of having his own family torn away from him in fire and smoke and so much red. 

He was used to it all, grown accustomed to it. He thought there was nothing left that could pit an ice cold block in his stomach anymore, yet here he was, knees unsteady and feet threatening to slip from under him. 

But that was probably Titan’s doing; every movement he made sent the earth cracking and thundering, shaking the very ground Drautos stood upon. 

Noctis, though, looked absolutely peachy. 

The boy hopped onto the flat edge of the remains of a stalagmite cut cleanly across and waved both his arms in the air, standing before the face of the Astral whose head covered the entire sky, fragments of the meteor jutting from his skull and blocking out the darkening clouds. Titan, unlike the boy’s cheerful exuberance, looked damn intimidating with his glowing eyes and rows of stark teeth, his expression coming off more as a grumpy god ready to smash the small ant of a Prince. 

Drautos thought he really would squash Noctis when he raised a hand, debris and gravel rolling off those large fingers, but then he held his palm open and flat at the cliff’s edge. 

He also just about had a heart attack when Noctis hopped off the makeshift podium and took to a running start, leaping from the cliff to plummet to the depths below — only to tuck his knees to his chest and roll onto Titan’s palm. (Later, Drautos would be just a touch proud that the boy remembered his lesson on how to properly roll and break a fall.)

From the distance that separated them, he could see Noctis talk quite animatedly, flinging his arms to the side or up and down, bouncing on his feet and mouth running a mile a minute. And, was Titan smiling? Drautos absolutely could not tell; it looked more like an angry toothy frown to him, almost like gnashing teeth actually.

When Titan gently slid the boy off his hand and back on solid ground — much to Drautos’ relief now that he was within a few paces of his charge — Noctis looked absolutely giddy, practically vibrating with anticipation where he stood. Drautos had seen his “adopted” nephew excited plenty of times, the way his eyes lit up like the stars beyond the Wall, and in that left dimple that seemed to be filling the more years he racked up. But rarely had he seen that genuine, sheer delight that made his eyes shine  _ brighter _ than the moon, sun, and stars all combined; when, for as much as of a chatterbox he could be over his passions and whatever game series he was playing, even words escaped him when the exhilaration stole his voice and all coherent thought, leaving nothing but flailing arms and high-pitched whines. 

Rather adorable, Drautos thought but would never admit out loud, kind of like a fat seal pup with its dinky flappers and odd wailing. 

Speaking of odd wailing, Noctis’ turned into a high-pitched, god-awful cacophony of shrieks and screams of the ear piercing frequency, when Titan reached a hand down into the depths to plop a life-sized statue in front of Noctis, the bronzework easily overshadowing the child. Drautos thought he caught a glimpse of the gold and copper and the tell-tale architecture that adorned the coffins of ancient kings past, when Titan shifted his arm to drop off the statue, but watching Noctis run laps around the giant figurine was more amusing. 

“It’s him! It’s really him!” Noctis half-yelled, half-laughed, trying to clamber his way up the pedestal, hands slapping at the dusty thing. 

For a split second, Drautos had no idea who  _ him _ was, then thought himself a fool for not recognizing the bronzework earlier. That face had been  _ everywhere, _ from the banners to artwork to cosplay, albeit some of the details were different, but it really should have been unmistakeable. The bronze had aged, turning its once warm gold-orange sheen into a rusty green, but he knew those distinct clothes, the hood almost obscuring its face and the emblem adorning it. The pose, both hands slightly lifted at the sides and palms facing outward, the trickblade unsheathed and sitting at a wrist. 

“Can I keep it? Really?!”

Titan rumbled, sending another quake beneath them, and surely Lestallum must be feeling the aftershocks of all this. An affirmation of sorts, considering the ungodly shriek he earns from the boy. Perhaps Regis should schedule the Prince’s etiquette lessons soon.

Noctis tears his little arms off the statue long enough to turn to Drautos and tug him over, one hand clasped at his cloak and the other pointing at… what Drautos assumed was now a gift of sorts. He’s surprised by how easily his feet move, considering the unnerving gaze of Titan looming over him, coupled with the giant-ass Meteor he held, and he did his best to not get  _ too _ paranoid of the Astral somehow dropping it on them. 

“Can we fit it in dad’s car? Titan said I can have it.” 

Uhhhh.

“I don’t think so, Princeling.” 

As spacious as the Regalia could be, there was absolutely no way the life-sized statue could fit inside. Well, perhaps if they rolled down the back windows and had it sticking out at both ends, but that would be without all the goods and prizes they snatched up from the festival. 

“Dang it. Ummm, oh, I know!” Noctis toddled back to the statue, stretching both his hands toward it. “I saw Dad do this with a suitcase.” 

Drautos watched him purse his lips and furrow his eyebrows in concentration, his little fingers flexing and straining as he tried to —  _ oh. _

A thin film of magic crawled from his fingertips, spreading out in thin webs as it covered the statue, glowing an eerie ice blue. In the next moment, the magic dispersed, the light shattering in small firefly sparks and taking the statue with it. Noctis blew out a heavy huff, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, but still wearing that smile of absolute delight. 

“Did you just put that in your Armiger?” Drautos asked, blinking at the now empty space. 

“Yeah.”

  
  


“I want to ride — “

Drautos couldn’t help but steal glances at the glowing meteorite sitting atop the dashboard, another  _ gift _ from Titan when he broke off a piece and let it fall into Noctis’ hands. He knew the workers at EXINERIS would love to get their hands on the sizeable chunk, use it to power their energy plants and city, but Noctis was more enamored by the Assassin statue sitting in his Armiger. A relic of the past that belonged in a museum instead of a boy’s magic pocket, but Drautos wasn’t going to argue about that — not when Titan specifically gave it to the boy, and the captain didn’t go picking fights with all powerful gods.

“My chocobo —”

In the passenger seat, Noctis swayed his head to the theme song, singing along with what seemed to be a child’s infinite energy. Maybe the meteorite was somehow powering him as well. 

“All day, la-la-la!” 

Drautos was just thankful they could finally head back to the hotel. 

Until the instrument panel started beeping and the once lit roads suddenly blinked into darkness. Of course, the headlights just had to die out. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Regalia breaking down, when Regis and his entourage had to push her down a hot and dusty road once, piled on top of all the other car problems they once had. He should have expected the same thing to happen to them — and now, of all times. 

When Drautos caught the first signs of the daemon miasma bubble and spurt from the ground, he stepped on the brakes and turned to Noctis to issue a word of reassurance, expecting a worried boy scared for his safety. Instead, he saw the soft glow of magenta in his eyes and a little lopsided smile.

So engrossed in the eerie sight, he almost missed the boulder tossed across the bridge, pummeling into the daemon spawn and knocking them into the fissure below. He knew too damn well where this story was going, having heard of the spectacle that was Ramuh and a Griffon and bearing witness to the video of Leviathan.

“Titan?”

“Titan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to give titan more screentime but somehow it veered off course???? imsorrylmao  
> /skedaddles to work on mermay fics


End file.
